I Would Fight Your Demons
by TheGladElf
Summary: Killian isn't the only one irrevocably changed by recent events. Post 5B spec fic.
1. Killian

Killian's demons are strongest in the daylight. He doesn't have to imagine the slight hesitations, concerned looks, and mistrustful eyes that glance at him before the smiles come. They care about him, he knows that, but he sees his most recent sins etched too clearly in each of them.

Sleep brings blissful oblivion. His dreams—good or bad—faded away in the morning light.

For Emma, the story is different.

# # #

The first time happens about a week after their return from Underbrooke (as Henry liked to call).

It's an ungodly hour when Killian wakes to darkness and an empty bed.

The spot where Emma should be emanates warmth, proof she hasn't been gone long. He almost calls her name, but spies the closed bathroom door and chides himself for worrying over nothing. With an emphatic thump to his pillow, Killian reaches for the embrace of sleep once more. It doesn't come. He thinks it must be Emma's absence at first, but the longer he waits for the solution to that problem, the more pronounced the silence around him becomes.

Propping up on one elbow, Killian eyes the door again, observing the dark shadow underneath the door.

Emma always turns the light on.

He knows he's probably being ridiculous, but he throws back the covers anyways and pads over the bare floor—they really should get a rug—to knock softly on the bathroom door.

"Emma, love, are you alright?"

There's a muffled gasp behind the door.

"Emma?" Silence. Killian grabs the handle, wrenching at it in futility. Locked. In this the week they've lived here, Emma has never locked the bathroom door. The sense of wrong in his gut uncoils, baring pointed teeth. He rattles the handle. "Emma, unlock the door."

Still nothing.

"Swan, unlock the bloody door or I'm breaking it down."

"Don't."

Despite the crack in her voice, relief floods over him at the sound, even as his heart breaks for the pain he hears. She's been crying.

"Go back to bed, Killian," she says, her voice measured again. "I'll be there in a minute."

He knows that voice. He's heard it too often in the last few months. He heard first outside of Granny's when she confessed why she'd been avoiding him. He heard it that day among the stones when she held Merida's heart in her hand. He heard it the day he found her in Regina's room in Camelot.

Emma is afraid.

Not just afraid, verging on panic.

His half of a heart squeezes painfully in his chest, the source of his unease blindingly apparent.

"Emma, let me in please."

A stifled sob and ragged breathing are the only reply he receives. Scenarios flit through his mind and he finds himself fighting panic as well. He presses his palm against the door, tamping down on the feeling lest it feed into whatever Emma feels right now. He wants to break the bloody thing down, just like he threatened—he needs to know that at least physically she is okay—but he can still hear the echo of barely restrained emotion in Emma's voice. Her behavior scares him, but he won't risk scaring her more. Not yet, at least.

"I'm right here, Emma," he says, forehead touching down on the painted white wood, "I'm not going anywhere." He keeps his voice low, soft, falling into the pattern he recalls so well from their weeks in Camelot.

Long minutes tick past. Eventually, Killian sits, leaning back against the wall as he waits.

How did he miss this? Everything that happened had been hard on him, to be sure, but it happened to Emma too. He knows how it felt to have that demon in your head. Knows full well what Emma went through—he inflicted much of it. And here he is, so wrapped up in his own struggle that he overlooked the cracks in her façade. He should have been as focused on Emma in this last week as she had been on him.

How could he have failed her again?

At last, the locked clicks, but the door remains shut. An invitation. Or permission perhaps.

Killian opens the door carefully, bracing himself for any of the dozens of panicked scenarios he devised over that last twenty minutes.

He finds a scene infinitely more heart-breaking.

Emma is curled into a corner where the tub met the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Grown woman and lost girl exist simultaneously in the slant of the moonlight. He leaves the door open, they have both spent too much time in darkness, as he goes to her and kneels on the cold tile floor. She keeps her forehead pressed against her knees, jerking when Killian runs his hand through her hair.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"What happened, love?"

"Bad dream."

Shame washes over Killian, the details she left out hanging in the air as full sentences. He pushes the guilt away. Right now, Emma needs him. Allowing remorse to suck him back in would only end with her holding his hand when she needs him to hold hers.

He should ask, he knows, no matter how painful he hearing her nightmare would be to him.

Instead, he pulls her close, waiting patiently until she relaxes into him. It takes far too long for his liking.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No no no," he croons. "Don't. Wake me whenever you need to."

# # #

The slamming bathroom door jolts him from oblivion the next night.

Still half asleep, Killlian stumbles after Emma, unsurprised when he tries the door knob and finds it locked. Heart aching, he sits by the door and tries to do with his words what she'd done hours ago by simply lacing her fingers with his. Tonight he waits a long time before Emma unlocks the door and he can't help wondering if she locks the door out of fear of who he'd been. If in the recesses of her mind, some part of her still equates him with the Dark One.

She doesn't flinch though when he crouches next to her or when he lifts her and carries her back to bed. Quite the opposite, in fact. She clings to him with trembling arms, tight enough that he finally gives up returning to his side of the bed and worms his way into the Emma shaped dip already forming on her side.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Shh." Killian presses his lips to her forehead. "Don't do that. Don't apologize."

She shakes with sobs as Killian cards his fingers through her hair. One of her hands finds the place above his heart and stays there. He presses his stump against her hand, a gentle reminder that he is there. An hour passes like that, Killian untangling his hand from her hair every so often to wipe away Emma's tears until she looks up at him, an embarrassed smile gracing her lips.

"Sorry to be a both—"

"Last night wasn't a one-time thing."

Emma lets out a slow breath, turning her face into her pillow. "No."

"How long?"

"Since we got back."

A lump rises in Killian's throat. Eight days. This is the eighth night she has woken from these night terrors and battled them on her own in a locked bathroom.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He is surprised he could get the words around all the frustration, guilt, and grief warring for dominance inside him. Not the place. Not the time.

Emma's silence speaks for her.

"Emma, look at me please." He waits. He waits long enough he thinks she has fallen asleep until she sighs and opens her eyes. And gods, those eyes. He gropes for the words he'd been about to say. "We do this together, Emma Swan." He traces the still wet tears tracks on her cheek with his thumb. "You drive away my demons every day. I will gladly lose a little sleep to help you fight yours."

Emma swallows, pulling him close again. "Please, don't tell anyone."

"Wouldn't dream of it love."

# # #

Killian learns a lot of things in the weeks that follow.

He learns to be a light sleeper. It takes the rest of the week before Emma stops fleeing to the bathroom when she wakes from a night terror, but she stops locking the door after the second night.

He learns to make sure she is awake before he touches her after one night when she mistakes him for one of the demons that haunt her dreams. A shiner decorates his jaw the next morning. Emma's magic cleans up the physical evidence, but he sees the apology in her eyes all the next day.

He learns not to let her resilience fool him. Emma powers through her guilt during the day. The brightness of her smile when she looks at him might erase the shadows under her eyes, but now that he knows they are there, he can't miss them. Small moments get to her occasionally and she never parts from him without an "I love you". Those three words fell so freely from her lips now, like she fears he will forget.

Or perhaps, she fears she might not get another chance to say them. This was Storybrooke after all.

He holds onto to those words though. And to the way she loves to smooth out the furrows in his brow with her fingers. How she squeezes his hand whenever the shadows tried to tug his thoughts away from her. How she pulls him aside at just the right moments to kiss him and ask if he was okay.

She is his strength during the day.

He is her safe place at night.

# # #

By the time she stops seeking safety in the bathroom, Killian learns that what Emma needs isn't always him. He wishes it was. He would jump inside her head and fight the bloody demons all night if it meant Emma could get a decent night's rest. But he can't, he must make do only rub soothing circles over her back as she looks up at him with wild eyes.

"Henry's okay?" she asks for the fourth time, fingers digging into the fabric of his t-shirt

"Yes, love, he's right down the hall."

Emma nods, head falling onto his shoulder. "You're sure?"

He slips out of bed, holding his hand out to her. "Why don't we go see?"

They tiptoe down the hallway, her hand crushing his as they pause at Henry's door.

He leans in so his mouth is a hairsbreadth from her ear. "Are you opening the door, or can I have my hand back?"

She blinks at him, understanding creeping across her features. "Sor—"

He presses his finger to her lips. "Shh, love." The door opens without a sound—Killian makes a mental note to grease the hinges on Henry's door just in case these visits become habit—and checks inside. "Still there," he mouths, stepping back so Emma can see for herself.

Emma leans against the doorframe, eyes scanning Henry's sleeping form before settling on the steady rise and fall of the boy's chest. They stand there for several minutes, Killian's arm wrapped around her waist, before returning to their own room.

"Emma, can I—I need to know…" He trails off, courage failing him. Killian turns his face away, only to be brought back to those green eyes by gentle fingers.

"What, Killian?"

"Is it me?" he asks. "Your dreams…Am I the one…" He closes his eyes, struggling to stay in this moment.

The bed creaks, the mattress springing back as Emma's weight shifts away.

When Killian opens his eyes, she sits at the edge of the bed, kicking her feet out in front of her.

"It's me," she says. "I dream about everything I ever thought about doing as the Dark One…I—" Emma sighs, head sinking. "Every night I rip out someone's heart and crush it while everyone watches. Henry. My parents. You." Emma buries her face in her hands, tipping so far forward she almost falls.

Killian reaches for her, hand resting on her shoulder until she softens and he coaxes her back under the covers with him. Tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder, he waits for her breathing to slow. She smiles into his shoulder as she recognizes the same eight letters she'd traced into the palm of his hand only this morning when a few careless words sent him spiraling toward self-doubt.

"I love you, too," she whispers.

# # #

Despite the lack of sleep, Emma pushes through each day with aplomb. The days that her demons follow her into the daylight are rare and most of Storybrooke remains clueless about her nocturnal demons. Killian suspects Henry knows as the lad found more and more excuses to spend the night at their house. The lad, of course, blames the occurrence on the presence of his infant stepsister.

# # #

"Emma, love, wake up."

She twists away from his touch, still caught up in whatever dream world held her captive. Whispered words escape her lips, unintelligible but desperate. Killian tries again, shaking her shoulder and nearly getting smacked in the process as Emma bolts up right.

"No!" The word rips from her mouth, sharp and ragged and loud. Emma looks at her hands, tears streaming down her face as she flexed her fingers.

"It was just a dream, Emma," Killian says.

Emma jumps, wild eyes meeting his. "No. I have to—my mom—I just—" Emma clambers out of the bed, nearly tripping as the blanket catches around her ankle. Her breath comes in panting gasps, while body shaking as she yanks open the closet door and flicks on the light.

"Tell me what happened," Killian says, following her to the closet and taking her jacket from her.

Emma lunges for the red leather, fingers closing around a sleeve only to recoil. She reels back in the small space, fresh tears welling in her eyes as Emma sank to her knees. Killian drops the jacket, kneeling next to her and trying to pull her into his arms. She pushes him away roughly.

"I did it," she sobs. "It was me. It's my fault."

"Emma, it was just a dream."

He tries, for over an hour, he tries coaxing her out of the closet. She shoves him and screams any time he touches her and he might have been hurt by the fear in her eyes, might have mentally dressed himself down for becoming something she fears subconsciously, if he hadn't recognized that her fear is not of him, but _for_ him.

At last, in desperation, he grabs Emma's talking phone from the bedside table and taps buttons until he gets one of her parents.

A touch of alarm colors the foggy voice that answers the phone. "Emma?" David. Naturally.

"Dave—"

"Hook?" The bleariness in David's voice vanishes. "What happened? What's wrong? Is Emma—"

"She's—Look, sorry to call like this, but—" How does he explain? He knows Emma hadn't mentioned a word of this to her parents. He'd watched her brush off comments about the dark circles under her eyes just yesterday. On the other end, he hears Mary Margaret's voice and remembers why he called. "Listen, mate, can you put your wife on?"

"Not until you tell—"

What sounded like a wrestling contest echoes through the phone, accompanied by hoarse whispering. A moment later, Mary Margaret speaks, "Killian, is everything okay?"

Killian sighs. "Just a moment."

Emma still huddles in the closet, quiet now—too quiet—fingernails digging into her bare knees. She doesn't shy away as Killian crouches beside her, just draws in another struggling breath. Relief floods through him as she looks up at him and not through him.

"It's your mum, love" he says, pressing the phone to her ear.

Her hand automatically comes up, her fingers cradling his.

"Mom?" Her voice cracks on the word and Killian fight the lump rising in his throat. Emma takes a deep breath and then another. "No, I'm...fine. Could you just…talk for a minute?"

# # #

They have good days and bad days. Good nights and bad nights.

What happened changed them. They will never be quite the same and Killian isn't fool enough to expect otherwise, but the good comes more easily and the bad begin to dwindle away. Their demons pushed back into the shadows by the light they cast for each other. Emma no longer apologizes when she wakes him. She still wants to, he can see it in her eyes. Someday, he hopes she truly understands that she doesn't need to.

"Emma? You with me, love?"

Emma nods.

"What do you need?"

Carefully, he tucks her hair behind her ear, gauging the damage this nightmare—the first in over a week—had wrought. Emma leans into his touch, grabbing his hand and pulling his arm around her. Her fingers slip between his as she buries her tear-streaked face against his chest and breathes deeply. Killian presses his lips to her hair.

"I'm right here, love," he says when her other hand touches the scar on his neck. "Everyone's fine. Your parents are fine. Henry's fine. We are all safe." _Thanks to you_. He keeps the last one to himself as he repeats the words, the band around his chest loosening as her tears slow. Emma makes no attempt to talk, so he keeps murmuring into her hair until she relaxes completely, rolling onto her back as she always does when truly asleep.

Killian sighs. The worst is past for tonight. Tomorrow, they can deal with the bags under both their eyes and the short tempers that consorted with a bad night.

"Sweet dreams, Swan," he says, kissing her temple before settling back in for the night. A few minutes later, he was asleep too.


	2. Emma

**For those of you that might have forgotten...SNEEZY was the one Emma turned to stone in 5x01. DOPEY is the one who go turned into a tree in 5x02 for crossing the town line. See, rude reviewer, I do have my dwarves right. ;D**

* * *

Emma's demons are easiest to escape in the daylight. She doesn't have to deal with her guilt and fears when she can lose herself in the day-to-day. She keeps close to the people she cares about, needing the reassurance of their presence.

Daylight brings a sense of purpose and the knowledge that everything is alright.

For Killian, the story is different.

# # #

It starts on their first day back from Underbrooke (a Henry Mills original).

Bright sunshine fills the room when Emma wakes to an empty bed.

She shuts down her first reaction, which is to freak out. Last night's dream was a just a dream, she reminds herself. She wasn't alone when she finally crawled back into bed in the small hours of the morning.

He is here. He is alive.

It's just that alone isn't how she expected to wake up, though a look at the bedside clock explains the lack of lecherous pirate.

Past noon.

Emma rolls out of bed grabbing Killian's shirt off the chair where he discarded it when they stumbled home late last night, desperate for comfort and sleep more than anything else. She notes that his boots are missing from the corner where he threw them last night, but doesn't think much of it until she pads downstairs and discovers she is the sole occupant of the house.

That shakes her.

But no, she wears a shirt that smells of brimstone and the ocean. One part Killian, one part Underworld.

Ten minutes later, she walks down the docks, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans as she approaches the _Jolly Roger_. She almost transported herself right onto the ship, but with how jumpy the Underworld has her, she figures Killian will appreciate the warning.

The gangplank spans the distance between dock and ship, confirming Emma's suspicions, but the knot in her gut doesn't fully release until she sights Killian on his knees, scrubbing at the deck with a brush that seems far too small for the task. The sharp scent of wet paint wafts through the air.

"Looks like you've been at it for a while," Emma says, eyeing the gleaming woodwork.

Killian sits back, swiping his arm over his brow as he twists to look at her. Despite the chill in the air, he has discarded his jacket and vest, working in his cotton button down sleeves scrunched up to his elbows. It's a good look for him, though Emma understands why it's impractical.

"Morning, Swan," he says, offering a hesitant smile.

Emma bites back a grin. "Morning?"

Killian glances up at the sky, eyebrows drawing together as he notes the position of the sun. "Apologies, love, I seem to have lost track of time. I meant to return in time for lunch." He casts another look around him. "I've just this bit to finish," he says, waving the brush in his hand vaguely. "You should go on without me. I'll be there shortly."

He gives her a tight, awkward smile and the distance between them yawns wider. A few feet and a set of stairs are that separates them, but Killian won't quite look at her and he feels so far away. Emma wants to ask why he didn't leave a note. Did he not think she'd worry after…after everything? But she knows the slouch of his shoulders. How had she never noticed how heavily he carries the weight of three centuries?

Emma wishes this could be easy, but knows that it won't be. Recovering from what she did—what they did—is going to take time.

But they need to start somewhere.

Killian always does a good job taking care of her, it's time for her to do the same.

The sleeve on his right arm falls and he drops the brush to gingerly shove it back up his arm with the hook. Emma crosses the distance, skipping the last step completely as she crouches next to him and places her hand over the hook.

"Let me," she says.

Killian doesn't protest as she neatly folds the sleeve up over itself once and then twice. She didn't realize how much she needed to touch him until her fingers brush his skin. A memory comes to mind, the coolness of his hand in hers before she split her heart and gave him half.

"Is everything okay?"

"Fine," he says, squeezing her hand. "I woke at the crack of dawn and simply couldn't get back to sleep. Despite the enticing company." Killian winks, flashing a grin she remembers very well from the early days. Back when he was less choosy about who he flirted with.

"Killian," she says, voice going pinched and sharp when she sees the long scrape across his knuckles, "What happened?" She lifts his hand, turning it over to see that his palm glows an angry pink.

"My soul might reach back a few centuries," Killian says, pulling his hand back. "But the body was minted yesterday." He waggles his eyebrows at her and plasters a smirk on his face, but there's a mile-high wall in his eyes.

Emma grabs his hand back before he can say whatever hilariously ribald statement he thought up. "You only have one good hand," she chides, "can we please take care of it?" Her palm tingles as she erases the scrape and the blisters already forming.

"Thank you, love," he says, smirk dialed back to a tight grimace. "Perhaps I should call it a day." He stands, reaching for his vest and jacket.

Emma follows. "Hey," she says, placing her hand on his shoulder. She cups his face in her hand. Again, she focuses on the warmth of his skin, on the fact that he's here. That's enough for her. The perfect place to start. "Look at me please?"

Killian's eyes flick to hers once, back to the deck, and to her again. The dark circles under his eyes aren't the only shadows she finds. Demons dance in his gaze, the guilt too fresh to hide. Emma stretches onto her tiptoes, her lips claiming his. His hand clutches her hip, clinging to her like she's the only thing keeping him afloat. She remembers how that felt and how steady he stood when she was the one drowning, how Killian pulled her in and helped chase her demons away.

It was past time for her to return the favor.

"How about I grab lunch and then we take your ship out for the rest of the day?" she asks, close enough their lips brush as she speaks.

Killian presses his forehead against hers. "I'm sure you have things that need doing, Emma."

"Nope," she says, extricating herself from his arms so she can help fix his sleeves and button his vest and jacket back on—because it's December and she'd rather not he come down with a cold straight out of the Underworld. "My only plans for today involved you and me christening our new house, but that can wait for a less nice day." The irony of her words while she's buttoning up his vest, is not lost on her.

Killian clearly doesn't know what she's talking about, the darkness in his eyes replaced by confusion. "I know all about christening a ship, but how does one christen a house?"

"I'll show you later," she says, grinning, "you'll like it. I promise."

Killian remains skeptical, but he shrugs. "Will we be able to get far? I've no desire to spend the rest of my life as shrubbery."

"Shrubbery? What—Oh. Crap." Emma grimaces. In the aftermath of Killian's—of her running Killian through with Excalibur, Emma forgot about the dwarf at the town line. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back." She doesn't even think about it, just transports to the edge of town, releases Dopey from the spell, and transports both of them back to Granny's.

By the time she returns to the Jolly Roger with their lunch in hand, all traces of Killian's cleaning spree have disappeared. He leans against the mast, very carefully using his hook to clean out underneath his fingernails, looking more relaxed than when she found him a half hour ago.

He looks up as she boards the ship again, the smile coming easily. "Is the dwarf taken care of?"

Emma nods. "And Mom and Dad know we're unavailable for the day."

Actually, Emma's call while she waited on lunch surprised her mother. Apparently, her family assumed it would be a few days before either of them rejoined society. That explained why Henry hadn't been knocking down their door this morning. Tomorrow, she'd have to invite him over, let him spend time at the house with her and Killian, but for now she would enjoy having Killian all to herself.

"And how did your father take that?" Killian smirks.

"He thought the time alone would be good for us."

Chuckling, Killian takes the bag from her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "So, shall we dine first?" he asks, gesturing toward the hatch.

Emma's stomach rolls at the thought of their last disastrous meal on this ship. Pushing away the bite of that day, she shakes her head. "Let's sail away first."

"And let the onion rings get cold?"

"I have magic," Emma says, wiggling her fingers at him. "Just a flick of the wrist and the food will be hot and crispy again."

The day turns colder once they're away from the protection of the harbor and Emma discovers that she's not quite dressed warmly enough, She bears it or at least she means to, but Killian notices like he always does. He disappears below deck, reappearing with his old pirate coat and slinging it around her shoulders. The shoulders are too big and the sleeves swallow her hands, but it smells like him and it's warm, so she doesn't care. They have no trouble leaving Storybrooke behind—she disabled the rest of the curse when she released Dopey.

She waits until the town stretches into a dark line on the horizon before grabbing his hand and their food, dragging him to the prow where they picnic cross-legged, passing an extra-large side of onion rings between them. Killian seems to forget his usual tidiness, wolfing down his sandwich twice as quickly Emma. He's more restrained with the onion rings until she slides them over his way and says she's done with them. It's probably his first meal since that night.

Finding something to talk about proves difficult at first. She knows something bothers him, she's afraid he'll close up if tries pushing the issue. She decides to give him time to open up on his own before she pries. Instead, she dredges up stories from the year she and Henry spent in New York and he laughs, dimples flashing even though the laughter never really reaches his eyes.

"Hey," she says, when she catches him staring at his rings for the umpteenth time since they sat down for lunch. "Where do you keep going?"

Killian blinks, attention snapping back to her. The tight smile returns. "Sorry, Swan…"

"Killian, please, don't shut me out," Emma says, shifting to her knees, closing the distance so there's no part of him she can't reach. "Something's been bothering you all day. What is it?"

He eyes her warily, the muscle in his jaw jumping as his mouth pinches into a flat line.

"Whatever it is, we can deal with it. Together."

Killian rips his eyes from hers, ducking his head as he taps his fingers against the curve of his hook.

Emma waits, keeping her hands to herself, wanting to give him this small bit of space to sort out his thoughts, despite how desperately she craves the contact. She wishes she knew how to chase his demons away as effortlessly as he has always chased away hers. Emma isn't sure how to help him, but this was her choice. She chose him. She wants him. So no matter how out of her depth she feels, she won't run.

She loves him. He loves her. That is enough for her.

"I couldn't shut it out," he finally says, fingers rasping against his jeans as he makes a fist. "When I woke this morning, all I couldn't escape my voice—my words—What I said—What I've done—" His voice cracks.

"Hey." She can't help it anymore, can't hold herself back when he's looking like he'll break apart. She cradles his face. "It wasn't you."

His mouth quirks bitterly. "Oh, but some of it was, love."

Emma sighs. "Yeah, I know. But I deserved that bit, Killian."

"Perhaps," he says. His eyes stare over her shoulder, but his hand covers hers as he leans into her touch. "But you never deserved that delivery."

"That wasn't you," she repeats.

He glances at her, eyes glistening. "How can you even look at me, Emma?"

Emma takes his hand in both of hers, raising it between them. "Do you remember what you said when you told the stories behind these?" she asks, thumb caressing cool metal. Every word of that conversation remains branded into her memory. She can still feel the way hope uncurled inside her for those brief moments before everything came crashing down.

"Aye."

She kisses the back of his hand. "I love you," she says, "and I forgive you."

Killian gasp, an odd little breath in and out, eyes going wide. His hand lands on her left should as he caves, his forehead find a resting place on her right shoulder. She draws him closer, murmuring words of love as he cries, his tears slipping hot down her neck and soaking into the collar of her shirt. These aren't the silent, stoic tears he shed when he said goodbye to Liam, but great, purging sobs with all the weight of a life lived too long behind them.

If she didn't need him so much, didn't know how much he wants to be here with every beat of their shared heart, she might have felt a little guilty for not letting him finally move on.

But she does need him and she does know, so she escapes guilt in this at least.

Emma loses track of time, but eventually he straightens, looking better good than anyone that has any business looking after a crying jag. Offering a sheepish smile, he swipes as his cheeks, which are still slightly pink. His rings catch the sunlight and Emma knows what needs to be done.

She holds her hand out and he's recovered enough to give her the quizzical eyebrow raise.

"Trust me, okay?"

Killian nods, letting her reclaim his hand.

She lays his palm flat against hers, tracing her fingers over the veins on the back, running down the length of each finger before she slides the ring from his thumb.

"Swan…"

"No," she says, meeting his eyes as she removes the next ring. "No more living in the past. You get so focused on who you used to be, you miss who you are right now." The last ring comes off and Emma holds them between them, imagining that she can feel the weight of each memory. "And if you're worried about upsetting your aesthetic, we'll find you new rings. With happy memories involved." Emma shoves the rings in the first pocket she finds, a deep one in the old pirate coat. Still following the instinct that hit her a moment ago, she reaches for the chain she has barely taken off since he gave it to her. She holds the ring up between them. "We'll start this one," she says. "You are never allowed to take it off again. Is that clear?"

"Bossy princess aren't you?"

"I was supposed to inherit a throne," Emma says, "It's my job to be bossy." She fixes her eyes on his, making sure this is okay. Killian nods. She unlocks the clasp, letting the chain slide to the deck as she slips the ring on his little. It's strange to see his hand so bare, but deep in her bones she knows this was necessary. "Why didn't you wake me this morning?"

Killian shrugs. "You slept so peacefully. It seemed a shame to disturb you."

Emma almost tells him, right then and there, about last night. About the nightmare that left her shuddering in the bathroom for over an hour. Wanting him, but not wanting to wake him. Unable to trust herself near him when she could still feel his heart turn to dust in her hand.

But he'll see this as his fault too, and she has only just chased the demons from his eyes.

"Wake me up next time," she says. "Okay?"

"Okay."

And she is right about him liking the real world, twenty-first century version of christening. So much so, that he suggests the Jolly Roger might need to be rechristened.

# # #

"No!"

They've been home for six days when the hoarse shout rips her out of her own nightmares—thankfully just at the beginning, before she gets to the worst part. Her heart slams into her throat, still caught in the terror of her own dream, but the sight of Killian hunched over with his head in his hand greets her when she rolls over. His presence and his need provide welcome relief from her own dream world.

"Hey," she says, "bad dream?"

He nods.

He shakes under her hands as she moves them soothingly up and down his arms. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she climbs out of bed. The cold floor bites at her feet and maybe they should think about getting a rug, but it's the middle of the night. Now is not the time to bring it up. She grabs her robe, tossing Killian's toward him. He scrambles out of bed, looking sleepy and confused and adorable as Emma pulls a blanket from the bed.

She chose this bedroom (and she might have rearranged a few things around magically) because it has the same turret-style window overlooking the ocean as downstairs. She kneels on the little window seat, flicking the clasp and opening the window. The screen pops out without diffculty.

"Swan, what are you…"

She slips out the window before he can say anything, stepping on the gently sloping roof and holding her hand. "Come on." She can hear it tonight. The sound is too quiet to hear through windows and walls, but outside she can hear the ocean. Emma knows the moment Killian hears it too. He draws in a sharp breath, lips parting slightly as he stares out at the sea, his hand sliding into hers.

They both smile.

They sit, her back to his chest, the blanket wrapped around both of them, providing some barrier against the cold December night.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Emma."

"Don't be, Killian," she says, glad that he can't see her face. Right now isn't about her, though. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not talk at all," he says, his lips finding a spot behind her ear.

"Killian, we're on the roof."

"Nothing keeping us here."

"It's cold," Emma protests, even as she turns her head so he can continue trailing kisses down her neck. "The blanket keeps me warm."

"Inside is warm."

"Not anymore, the window is open."

"If the lady insists, then," Killian says, a teasing note in his voice. He rests his chin on the top of her head, wrapping his arms more firmly around her middle. Underneath her shoulder, she feels the steady beat of his heart, keeping time with her own.

She sighs. "I suppose we should head inside before there's no warm air left."

# # #

She feels like she is relearning Killian.

The person she fell in love with is still there, but she realizes just how much he keeps hidden. His walls are well-disguised, easier to miss because they aren't meant to keep people out. They're meant to keep his demons in. The only problem is, he ends up trapped with those demons.

Emma learns that the best way to break down those walls and exorcise his demons is just to be patient and listen. Her heart breaks when he finally talks about his father, about being sold as a child and finding out he'd been replaced as an adult. He won't look at her for nearly an hour after he tells her about murdering his father in cold blood and left his brother an orphan. She stays with him, tracing the lines on his face, smoothing the furrow from his brow over and over again.

She learns the tells, the little signals before he retreats into himself. She finds ways to draw him back, trying not to let him get too far from here and now. Sometimes the melancholy takes over anyways, especially when it's triggered by something someone said or did, and she can only remind him that she stands with him and that she loves him.

He always comes back to her eventually.

# # #

His nights remain peaceful for the most part. The demons that plague him during the day rest when he does. A good thing for both of them, because they would never get any sleep if they both dreamed Emma's dreams.

He refuses to let her suffer through her night terrors alone, pulling her from them more often than not. Emma tried not to feel guilty for disrupting the few hours of peace he has to look forward too.

Some mornings that is easier than others.

Three weeks after they return finds Killian in the bathroom, inspecting his face in the mirror. A large purple blotch decorates his jaw on one side. He prods at it, wincing a little. He should have gone downstairs and iced it last night, but he'd been too busy soothing her fears away.

Emma feels like lead sits in her gut. She doesn't even remember hitting him, just remembers waking to a loud thud. She knocked him clean out of the bed.

"Let me fix it," Emma says.

"Really, I think we should show it to your father first," Killian says, grinning. "He'd this was hilarious."

"Killian."

He tries to smile, wincing again. "Well, I supposed it would be a crime to let this mar my dashing looks."

Emma rolls her eyes, glad that one of them finds humor in this. The bruise makes her heart ache. Maybe she didn't know it was him when she lashed out—she can't even recall what she thought she was fighting—it was an accident, but she still hurt him. And even though the evidence heals easily enough, the guilt still makes a home inside her.

"I'm sorry," she says, hating the way her voice breaks. She can't look at him anymore, can't deal with the way he looks at her, or she'll cry. She leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

Killian hears the words he won't let her say, hears her apology reach back past last night to other moments that she carries inside her. It feels impossible to apologize for last night without apologizing (again) for everything she's done to him since Camelot.

Killian won't let her hide, of course. "None of that," he says, fingers pressing underneath her chin. "This wasn't your fault, Emma."

Emma hears the words he doesn't say, _I forgive you. I forgave you._ She sighs, letting him kiss her until the guilt flees, because in the end they are together and that is what matters.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asks between kisses.

"What _what_ means?" she asks back.

"Apparently, I am not the only one in this family with a wicked left hook."

Emma leans back, looking him dead in the eye and shaking her head. "You are ridiculous."

"And yet you enjoy it so much."

"Shut up and kiss me, pirate."

They are twenty minutes late to work that morning. Her father wisely makes no comment.

# # #

"Emma, don't," Killian says, grasping her hand and tugging when she moves to chase Leroy down. "It's nothing."

"It's been weeks," she snaps. "You don't deserve that."

"It's nothing."

It's not nothing, but it's also not something unusual. By now, she is used to Killian getting dark looks from the townspeople. Most mornings she would ignore it, but last night was an especially bad night and everything rubs her the wrong way this morning. Plus, Leroy really should know better.

"Ignore him," Regina says, taking a sip of her coffee. The rest of their plates sit to the side, waiting for someone to collect them. They have a tradition now, the three of them and Henry, meeting for breakfast before her son has to dash off to school. "That dwarf could hold a grudge until judgement day."

"Considering everything you've done, I doubt anyone is surprised he still gives you the cold shoulder, Regina."

""I'm just saying Leroy is a moron. I wouldn't worry about what he thinks," Regina says. She digs in her purse, pulling out a twenty and sliding it under her coffee cup. She fidgets in a very un-Regina-like way before sliding out of the booth. "Listen, speaking as the former evil queen, it's going to take time. But if people can learn to trust me again, then I'm sure there's hope for you. You did the right thing in the end."

Regina means the words to be comforting. Emma would find them comforting if they had been directed at her, but Killian withdraws as Regina clacks out of the diner. Not physically. His hand stays in hers, his thigh flush against hers, but distance creeps into his eyes.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Nothing, love."

She wants to press him, but bell above the door rings and she hears her mother's voice a second before Mary Margaret slides into Regina's recently vacated seat, Neal in her arms. Her brother is at that age where his favorite thing in the world is to pull himself up to a standing position. Which he does, wobbling between their parents—her father was close behind her mother—who always make sure one of them has a hold on him, just in case his grip on the table slips.

Mary Margaret magically brightens the atmosphere as always. Killian rouses somewhat, engaging her parents in conversation almost immediately. He pulls his hand from hers for a gesture, but quickly slips it back under the table when he sees the look she gives him.

Absently, she traces his fingers as she talks with her father about bringing on some more help at the Sheriff's station. Storybrooke may be small, but the days when two or three people could watch over the whole town are long behind them. David has a few suggestions. Killian nods without sarcastic comment and holds out his coffee for a refill when the waitress passes by

Emma doesn't want to say anything, not in front of her parents. They would understand, but whatever just happened is between her and Killian. She almost blurts out an excuse so they can go talk about it, but he is enjoying the conversation and her brother's antics when he discovers sticky syrup on his chubby fingers. Emma decides to stay. Killian won't leave until she does, she knows that, but she also knows it's good for him to feel he's a part of her family.

Sometime during the conversation, she stops tracing the lines on his palm and starts tracing letters. Eight letters. Three words. One truth. Killian misses it the first few times. She expects that. She also expects the look he gives her when he realizes there is a pattern. For the first time since Leroy made his huffing exit, his eyes brighten. A wicked glint shines in them as he tries to decipher her message. Whether he figures it out or not, Emma doesn't get a chance to find out, because at that moment Neal lunges for her mom's cocoa.

David grabs her brother, lifting him out of the way of the hot liquid, but he doesn't react quickly enough to spare himself or Mary Margaret. Her mother sighs, looking down at the cocoa covered table and her ruined jacket. Laughing, Emma slides out of the booth to grab a roll of paper towels from Granny. She returns to find her mother helping the blonde waitress clear away the plates and her dad balancing a tray on one hip and her brother on the other.

"Thanks," he says when Emma takes the tray of chocolatey cutlery and plates from him.

"Careful, or you'll get Neal covered in cocoa too," Emma says.

Her dad looks down and sees that yes, he did indeed put Neal on the side covered in formerly hot chocolate. "Oh sorry, buddy," he says. And then, like he's done it a thousand time, her father hands the baby to Killian, who reaches for the roll of paper towels and gets an armful of baby instead.

Emma is impressed that he doesn't drop her brother in shock.

Neal leans back a little, looking up at Killian. Neither of them seem quite what to do with the other and Emma realizes it's the first time her boyfriend has held her brother. Emma hands the towels off to her mom and the tray off to a server.

"Here," she says, adjusting Neal so that he's nestled against Killian's side as securely as he had been against her father's.

"I'm not sure the man with one hand is the best person to be holding the baby."

"Oh you're fine," her mom says without even looking. "You only need one hand to hold a baby."

"Actually," David says, "you don't even need the hand, just the arm."

"That's reassuring."

Killian keeps any further protests to himself as he stands, his hook held stiffly behind his back and watches them help tidy up. Emma tries not to stare, but she can't help watching from the corner of her eye as Neal babbles, finding occupation with the chain hanging around Killian's neck. She hopes it has a strong clasp. Killian sighs audibly when Mary Margaret reclaims her brother, prying the baby's fingers from the charm he's clasping.

"Thank you," she says.

Her parents head home to change, her father promising to be back at the Sheriff's station soon, and Emma and Killian start the walk to work.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"The thing with your brother?" Killian shakes his head. "I suppose I'll get used to it. I am part of the family after all." He smiles at her.

"No, I meant whatever Regina said."

Killian purses his lips, looking straight ahead. They reach the station before he speaks and Emma loses herself in the usual things, trusting that him to open up when he's ready.

Yesterday's leftover paperwork sits on her desk and Emma shuffles through it before taking her seat. Half of the form is complete when Killian pulls his chair over to her, propping his elbows on his knees as he studies the floor.

"In the end," he says.

Emma glances up. "In the end of what?"

"That's what she said. I did the right thing in the end." He taps his hook in the palm of his hand.

"Okay," Emma says, pushing her chair back and rolling it over until her knees cross between his. "I'm still not sure…"

"I'd just…" He sighs. "What if I'm never the sort who does the right thing in the beginning or the middle?"

Emma reaches out, fingers brushing down his wrist to take his hand. "Hey, you've done the right thing plenty of times. Like in Neverland when you saved my dad and told us about Neal. And with Ursula. And when you stayed away from me to keep from stealing my magic."

"As I recall, you were quite miffed about that."

"Yeah, the execution sucked, but it doesn't mean I don't appreciate the sentiment now." She scoots the chair a little closer, pressing her palm to the side of his face. "There is a whole list of right things that you've done since I met you."

He smiles a little at that. "Stretching that far back, love? I seem to recall some very poor decisions on my part at the beginning."

"Which I started when I left you on that beanstalk," Emma says. "So we're even on that count. Besides…" She smiles, hand moving to cup the back of his head. "We're not at the end yet. Plenty of time for you to do more right things." She gives him a quick kiss, before returning to her side of the desk.

And next time, when they're all together, he only hesitates long enough to remove his hook and stick it in his back pocket before taking her brother.

# # #

Sharing a heart makes things odd at first, when the connection between the two halves is strongest. As the weeks wear on, they develop a kind of tolerance and the influence they have on each other's emotions returns to normal.

Though there's another odd side effect that crops up months after Killian's return.

For all the worrying she does the first time they have to separate while chasing after this week's big bad, Emma ends up being the one at the hospital with a dislocated and her arm in a sling. Emma does the best she can after Whale pops the joint back in place, but there is only so much good her magic can do with an injury this deep.

At least her shoulder no longer throbs when Killian bursts into the hospital, catching Emma just as she's signing her discharge paperwork.

"Emma!"

"Over here," she says, waving the clipboard at him before handing it back to the nurse.

"What the bloody hell is the point of you having that bloody phone if you never bloody answer it?" he asks, glowering down at her.

"Sorry, the phone kind of bit it when I hit the tree," she says, gesturing to her arm.

"Are you alright, love?" he asks, resting his hand on her hip and pulling her closer.

Emma shrugs and regrets it immediately. "Dislocation, that's all. How'd you find me?"

"Regina told us she dropped you off here when she met us," Killian says.

"And you got him?"

"Yes, love," he says. He's giving her the same stare as when he found her in the Sorcerer's house all those months ago. He starts to say something when his phone buzzes and he steps back to fish it out of his pocket. "Yeah, mate. Aye, I'm with her. No, she's fine, just a bum shoulder. Tell Her Majesty that next time she should perhaps lead with that bit of information. You feel up to Granny's, Swan?" He pauses, sending a questioning look her way. "She says we'll see you there." He slips the phone back into his pocket before pulling her close again. "You're sure you're alright, Emma?" he asks, his voice low and muffled by her hair.

"I'm fine," she says, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I am now."

The whole town turns out for the usual we-just-prevented-the-magical-apocalypse party, or at least that's what it seems like, because Granny's is packed with people. The only two empty seats are the ones currently being held for them by her parents at their regular booth. Emma slides into the booth without letting go of Killian's hand, grateful that her left shoulder had the decency to stay where it belonged.

"Ouch," her dad says.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home, Emma?" her mom asks.

Emma shakes her head. "Food first. The shoulder isn't so bad right now."

She listens as her father fills her in on how they finally tracked down the bad guy and shut the spell down. She feels a little guilty for being out of commission when all that went down, but since she was still seeing stars at the time, she doubts she would've made a different. None of what her father says explains why Killian is still acting weird. Not in the worrisome, bad way. More in the completely overreacting, won't take-his-eyes-off-her kind of way. The funny thing is, her dad is doing the same thing. It has to be something that happened while they were out, because her mom acts normal.

"What happened with you, though?" her dad finally asks, gesturing to her arm.

"Did Regina not fill you in?"

"There wasn't a lot of time for chit chat," David says.

"Not much to tell," Emma says. "He was big and nasty and he used his super strength to introduce me to joy of flying, which was great for the two seconds before I hit the tree. By the time I came to, he was gone."

Her dad shoots a glance at Killian, nodding.

Their food shows up then, followed quickly by Henry who asks a few of the same questions as everyone else. Regina apparently gave him a more thorough rundown, because Emma's "Yes, I'm fine," placates him. He joins Regina and Robin at the counter and her parents wander off once they've finished their food.

At first, Emma is content to just sit, until she notices the shifty look in Killian's eyes that says he's getting overwhelmed. He hasn't been the biggest fan of crowds since his temporary residence in the Underworld.

"Hey," she says softly, "you ready to get out of here?"

"If you are, love," he says, though the relief on his face belies his detached tone.

"Let's go," she says.

She waits until they are out the door before she transports them home. Normally, she tries to avoid such flashy displays of magic, but her car is still at the mayor's office and she doesn't feel like learning to drive one-handed. Especially since her arm will most likely be fine tomorrow.

The silence of the house feels eerie after the bustle of the diner.

She should let go of his lapel, try some more magic on her shoulder, and go to bed, but she's comfortable here toe-to-toe with Killian's hand cupping her good shoulder. He sighs, his breath fanning the hair by her ear and kisses her temple.

"Do you need anything for the shoulder?"

"No, it's fine," she says. "And before you ask, yes, I'm sure. Should be fine in the morning."

"Ah yes, the Charming family optimism," he says. He steps over to the couch to remove his shoes.

Emma follows, hooking a finger under his chin and bringing his gaze back up to her. "What's going on," she asks. "You are acting strange."

He gives her the tight smile she hates so much now. "It's nothing, love."

"It's not—" Emma stops, using her magic to flick her lights on as she brushes the hair back from his forehead. What she thought was a trick of the light, turns out to be a faded pink scar that wasn't there this morning. She traces the short line just below his hairline, in the perfect spot to hide under his fringe. "Killian…" Her throat closes up.

"It was just a scratch, Emma," he says, pulling her into his lap. "Got knocked about a bit. Hit the wrong end of my hook. Regina patched me up."

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asks.

"I was a bit preoccupied with worrying about you. Listen…"

She doesn't let him finish the sentence. He makes a startled noise when her mouth crashes down on his, but he catches up quickly, his desperation matching her own. She kisses him until she believes he is here again, until his presence crowds out the memories from that horrible night. She knows she'll have horrible dreams tonight and she can tell he knows too.

"I'm right here, Emma," he says, taking her hand in his and pressing it right above his heart.

They sit in the silence, foreheads touching, fingers laced together, breathing each other in.

"I knew," he whispers. "I knew something had happened to you. I felt it."

"You did?"

"Aye. Scared the hell out of your father. And me."

Emma thinks of the shared look she noticed in the diner and chuckles. "I'm sorry. I was fine…Well, the world was little hazy through all the pain, but I was mostly fine."

"And now?"

"I could use a long, hot shower, some aspirin, and a date with our bed."

"Well, that can be arranged."

# # #

They settle into this life, developing new routines. They figure out schedules for dinner, because man and woman cannot live on Granny's alone and Emma introduces Killian to the wonders of the washing machine. As it turns out, he is meticulous about sorting and they never experience the cliché red sock in the white things moment.

He still wakes at dawn, but as time passes he needs her less and less to drives out the voices in his head. He tells her the happy memories eclipse the sad ones most days. On weekends, he'll stay in bed with her and she wakes to his arm curled around as he reads, patiently waiting for her to wake up.

Slowly, slowly, they help each other fight off the demons, building a castle out of this home, this life of theirs. Her nightmares fade and her dreams are especially sweet when she falls asleep knowing that the only two people she needs in the world are under her roof. Killian's dark moods fade too, happening less and less often as he reintegrates into the lifeblood of Storybrooke.

They trade off trips to Granny's on busy days and Killian doesn't even argue when she sends him to pick up lunch two or sometimes three days in a row.

"Do I have sauce on my chin?" he asks, on one such occasion. He has pulled an extra chair into her office—it never really leaves her office actually—and they are enjoying their usual lunch.

Emma smiles. "No, I was just thinking…"

Killian reaches out and snags her last onion ring before she can finish, holding it out of her reach and completely derailing her train of thought.

"Killian, give that back," she says, lunging to her feet.

He is already ahead of her, grinning as he steps back. "Ah, ah, you want the last onion ring, you have to pay the price, Swan."

Emma sighs and crosses her arms. "What price?" she asks, though she is pretty certain what he'll say.

Killian leans in. "A kiss."

"You are ridiculous," she says, but she kisses him anyways.

"I love you," he says softly as he pulls away.

She can't believe she fell for it.

It's their game now. A competition they make of who will be the first to say those words or who will say them most often. They've come to recognize the words in each other's eyes and the length they'll go to distract the other long enough to say it first truly does get ridiculous at times. They never really keep score. Either way they both win, but they still get into it way too much.

Emma huffs as she reclaims her food from him. "Cheater," she says around a mouthful of onion ring.

His grin widens. "Pirate."

"Yeah, yeah, pirate," she grumbles, tossing the wrapper from her grilled cheese at him. "Maybe you should get back to work if you're going to cause so much trouble."

"Perhaps I shall," Killian says. "I shall just move back to my side of the desk…"

Emma stops him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I love you, too," she says.

* * *

 **So this ended up being much long than I expected, which is why it's coming out on Wednesday instead of last Sunday like I promised on tumblr.**

 **Anyways, I wanted to explore some of the elements that I doubt the show will have time to really do justice. That's one of the downsides to a plot-driven story structure. It leaves very little time to delve into the day to day things, though I'm hoping there will be some little things, like they did when Snow didn't want to let go of Neal because she was worried something would happen.**

 **I tried to make how Killian's death and resurrection affect them a little different. For Emma, I went more for anxiety, because I think she would be more worried about things outside of herself, especially where Killian is concerned. With Killian, I think it would manifest a little more like depression because his real issue is all the self-loathing and guilt that he still carries around.**

 **I'm still not entirely sure how likely it is that they'll share a heart, I doubt that it will be that easy. There's going to have to be more for them to overcome. There are ways to make them sharing a heart work, but it won't if that's all they have to do because that's cliche (and it a plausible really wasn't his heart that was the problem, Excalibur literally severed his soul from his body). Still, I'm sticking with the idea for now because it's the best option that's been offered. And if you follow me on tumble, you may have noticed that I completely ignored my "Emma and Killian won't be able to leave Storybrooke because they need magic for their heart(s) to work. It didn't work with this story. I wanted them to be able to sail away, so I ignored it. Plus, until A &E have someone say it's problem, I'm going to pretend that it isn't**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always appreciated, I loved every one.**


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